Quite Contrary
by DragonSapphire
Summary: Fenris was a mess of contradictions.


Fenris was a mess of contradictions wrapped in an incredibly grumpy but pretty package.

He spoke intelligently and with eloquence despite being unread. He was lithe and wiry yet wielded a sword that was nearly longer than he was tall and possibly twice as heavy.

He abhorred anything to do with magic, but here they were, elf and mage, intertwined as closely as two people could be and still remain separate entities. Fenris snarled and snapped at Hawke's lips, demanding entry with a tongue that could be smooth and seductive or flay the skin right off his bones. Hawke hefted him by the backs of his thighs and pressed him into the wall as they kissed, but there was no question Fenris had the upper hand.

Hawke hissed when Fenris' claws came out, which were less metaphorical than he would have liked. He had vivid red lines on his arms from his lover's gauntlets that echoed the cat scratches littering the back of Anders' hands, or the dozens of neat knife wounds from Merrill's self-inflicted cuts. They all bore healed wounds from battle, jagged slashes and glancing scrapes that meant they had survived, but should probably learn how to dodge faster. Hawke had his own fair share of scars, but he much preferred the ones earned in bed.

Fenris had rejected him after the first time they'd come together like this several years ago, claiming it - their lovemaking - to have been a mistake. Surely, the Maker would forgive Hawke for wanting a reminder that Fenris loved or, at the very least, desired Hawke enough to leave his mark on him.

Fenris shivered in his arms when Hawke cast a basic spell to light the candles in his room as they fumbled their way to his bed, discarding clothing and armor along the way. He needn't have bothered. Fenris' lyrium markings lit up like a beacon wherever Hawke touched him, sending sparks of Fade-flavored lightning through his lips and fingertips in response to his magic.

Fenris was as feral as one of Anders' kittens, clawing and hissing until he had Hawke laid out on his back, belly and throat bare and offered in supplication. He straddled Hawke's chest and pinned him like a boulder despite his relatively insubstantial weight. He radiated smugness and quiet, lethal intent when he slid down Hawke's body and took them both in hand. His vibrant green eyes, unblinking, drowned out the glow from the candles and his brands until the buzz building in Hawke's head and the base of his balls threatened to explode in a dazzling burst of white light.

Fenris didn't look away, settling into a rhythm that was as old as time but felt revelational to Hawke. He'd had multiple lovers in the past, but never someone who'd gotten so under his skin like Fenris had.

Fenris was a mess of contradictions wrapped in an inconspicuous red cloth kept knotted around his wrist.

He eschewed all ties to his former life and railed against anyone who attempted to lay a claim on him. Yet he was as loyal a companion as one could ask for regardless of Hawke's sympathetic tendencies toward other mages. He threw Hawke's gifts in his face (literally - he had the scar under his left eye to prove it), but held him in the aftermath of their brutally tender lovemaking like Hawke was the greatest treasure he could imagine.

Fenris hated anything to do with blood or magic, yet he dabbed at the wounds on Hawke's back and shoulders with a scrap of cloth that bled red when he was finished. He said nothing and instead smoothed the tips of his bare fingers over newly-healed skin as Hawke's magic haphazardly knit his flesh back together. He was no healer like Anders, but his lack of finesse was intentional. These scars Hawke would cherish and keep forever as a memento of their time together, though he feared marking Fenris in return would only breed resentment.

Hawke couldn't see into the future - magic didn't quite work that way - but he curled his fingers over the blood-stained cloth tucked around Fenris' wrist and hoped he would still be there come morning.

Fenris was a mess of contradictions whose love and hatred for Hawke meant everything and nothing at all when they were wrapped in each other's arms and both were too stubborn to be the first to let go.


End file.
